Drum Roll....

I think my brain is mush.

It's been almost two months since my last post... but I swear, my brain is not functioning in a blogging/writing sort of way.... and on top of that, I can't remember anything. I don't remember being this defunct with the other two, but then again, I probably won't remember this either.

Things -- like writing ideas, thoughts, etc. -- only show up in my mind in snippets... so I do a lot of drifting off in mid-sentence/mid-thought/etc.

Drives K. absolutely crazy.

"Finish your thought!" he'll bellow. I don't think the blank stare I give him in return helps. For someone who is laid back to the point of sometimes being comatose, he gets really agitated when I don't finish what I'm saying.

I've tried to point out that bellowing does not help me find my train of thought. It actually startles me, making the thoughts all jumble together... meaning I'll never remember what I was trying to say. Totally defeats the point of the bellowing to begin with.

Anyway, big news. I just returned from my big ultrasound.... and....

It's a surprise.

We decided early on that we didn't want to find out, and pleasantly enough, the kid cooperated. Wouldn't open his/her legs for anything. He/she has a perfect little profile and round belly... prefers to sleep on his/her belly as well. At this point, he/she is normal size... around the 67th percentile... so no massive bambino, as of yet. As the ultrasound lady was quick to point out, however, babies don't put on the majority of their weight until the third trimester, so there's hope still.

I'm hoping for a 10-pounder. Since I'll have a c-section, I'm not too concerned about how big he/she is.

Anyway, as odd as this is,I love my OB and look forward to my visits. He's really unique... very much his own person. He's from Cali... as in California.... and a little quirky. He is, seriously, one of the nicest people I've ever met in my entire life, and he is genuinely concerned about his patients. I had some blood issues when I had Laney, for example, and he actually came by to check on me while his wife was in surgery upstairs.

Keith and I joked a lot during my pregnancy with Laney that we kept expecting Doc to say things like, "Way cool!" or "Hang 10!".... as in "The little bambina is totally hangin' 10 in there!"

He didn't... but we kept hoping... :-) (I did find out that his brother is indeed a surfer, so at least we were close!)

He didn't totally disappoint us, though. In the delivery room, he gave an impromptu rendition of something from American Idol... until one of the nurses told him to stop. I don't remember what he sang because I was about 3 sheets in the wind... but I remember it being really funny.... and I remember wanting to laugh during most of the delivery because of his constant odd flow of conversation but not being able to... mostly because my brain and my body were totally not communicating under the influence of fabulous hospital drugs.

In fact, one of the few things (aside from the singing escapade) that I remember about the delivery room is that Doc laughed. A lot. At this point, I hope that he wasn't laughing at me... but I wasn't concerned then because he laughs all the time. If he'd been serious, I probably would've been freaked out. (He was very serious when he came to talk to me about the blood issues. Totally gave me the heebeejeebies.)

Back to today. After the ultrasound, K and I meet Doc in his office. He starts talking about my bloodwork, and while he's very serious, he describes issues with my blood by saying things like, "That's what tells the blood vessels to squeesh and stop bleeding."

It's hard to be very serious when your doctor is saying things like "squeesh"... but I figure words like that aren't easy to work into conversation about things that are really serious. On the other hand, neither K nor I know how to explain anything Doc said without using those words... He probably laughs every day, knowing his patients are going around explaining complicated medical things using words like "squoosh" and making funny sound effects.

At any rate, he rocks because he explains things in terms that I can understand and because he makes me laugh... unlike one of my other OBs from Knox-Vegas.

We called him The Big Tall Greek Doctor because, of course, he was huge. He was also the ninny that told me 4 weeks before delivery that my baby was going to be, at best, 6 1/2 lbs.

Whatever.

Ethan was 9 lbs. and ginormous.

Anyway,Big Tall Greek Doctor was nice enough, but I chose the other doctor, Dr. T., for my delivery because he was relatively amusing. It was a close call because Dr. T., despite his funniness, also looked alarmingly like a good friend's dad... and that kind of freaked me out. In the end, however, his humor was much more appealing. Plus, he didn't have freakishly large hands like Big Tall Greek Doctor. And thus the decision was made.

Dr. T. did a fabulous job -- minus the comment about me laying off the biscuits and gravy during my next pregnancy -- and managed to entertain me during the entire delivery (unscheduled c-section) by telling me, minutes before beginning, that I could do anything with my hands (which were laid out on this big cross-bar) except grab his butt.

I'm not kidding.

What did I do for the entire delivery? Try to will my hands to turn toward his butt. I didn't really want to grab it, but because it was my first experience with serious drugs, I was amazed by the fact that I could think things but not make my body or mouth obey. So, my train of thought for the entire delivery was, "Can I grab his butt? Hand, move. Move. Try to squeeze. Why aren't my fingers squeezing. How far away is his butt?"

You get the idea.

Post delivery, Big Tall Greek Doctor came in to check on me. Apparently, he was not pleased that I had not chosen him to deliver the baby/receive my next year's salary... and he was not pleasant. He pushed on my stomach -- hello, moron, I just had a c-section; that hurt! When I moved, he told me in a nasty voice that I'd have to lay still or he couldn't examine me.

I was still heavily medicated at that point, but I believe that was when I took a drunken swing at him.

He didn't seem to notice; apparently he either is used to people trying to hit him or he couldn't tell what I was doing as I had little-to-no control over my arm... but boy, if he could've been inside my head! I'd never been in a fight, but I was ready for my first one!

I didn't have to see him again, for which I was grateful... partly because I didn't like him and partly because I tried to deck him, albeit unsuccessfully.

Anywho, I'm sure this delivery will come with its own set of stories, especially since we don't know what he/she really is. I think we're going to have a 4-D ultrasound done, so hopefully I'll get some pictures to post (even though they are a little creepy). Baby 3 will be the first Jennings' kid to be recorded from announcement to birth into posterity via blog... something for which I'm sure he/she will be forever grateful... Sort of my revenge for all of those embarrassing stories Toad has told about me over the years...

Pictures

Will

Will & Jimmy


Notice the fear on Ethan's face -- Daddy almost capsized the canoe.

Pearle and Laney (with the 14th lollipop of the day...)

Jim, Jay, and Keith (who doesn't fish)

Mary & Laney bonding over lollipops

Emma & Robby doing a little father-daughter bonding...

Pat, Reece, and Pearle

"Maxine" & "Bobby Cox"

Robby's Dinghy & Jim's Pond Boat

Ethan "Opie" Jennings


Ok, these are the pictures I wanted to display on Flickr, but I still haven't gotten that to work.

Why Three Kids Is A Bad Idea

During 1st period, I looked down and realized that the tag of my dress was sticking out.... of the FRONT of my dress.

Apparently, in my hurry to get dressed this morning, I put my dress on backwards... and I actually like it this way. It's pretty comfy. I'm not changing it. Too much effort.

My point is this: If I can't dress myself with 2 kids, I don't think it's going to get any better with three. From this point on, please excuse me if I start wearing seasonal sweaters, get a sensible haircut, or start wearing socks to match my outfits. I never understood bad fashion before I had kids, but today has been a learning experience. Sometimes, it's apparently more what you can get on before a kid smears you with slime than what looks best?

I hope no one submits me to "What Not To Wear"...

I'm getting a little miffed...

I've been playing with Flickr -- an online picture service -- all day, and I can't get the cursed thing to work!

Last week, we buried my Pop, who is one of my all-time Hall of Fame heroes. I've never lost anyone that close to me, and it was truly devastating. To make a long story short, after the funeral the entire family, including my two grandmothers, decided to go fishing at my uncle's pond.

A bit odd, I know, but this is why my family totally rocks.

It was a completely perfect afternoon, and I wanted to share pictures on my blog because some of you know my family and because I think it's a perfect tribute to my Pop... He loved few things more than having us all together.

Plus, there's one picture of my Grandma Pearle where she looks like Maxine (of Hallmark fame) AND she's talking to my Grandma Hazel, who happens to be wearing an Atlanta Braves visor -- which makes me laugh. Not to mention there's a hilarious picture of Ethan with his fishing pole over his shoulder, looking a little Opie Taylor-ish, and another of his fear-stricken face when my dad took him out in the canoe after almost capsizing them.

The pictures -- compliments of my fab cuz-o Julie -- are priceless....

But I can't get the flipping things to upload! Anyone know how to use this thing?

Random Things That Concern Me

I am a terrible housekeeper. Anyone who knows me can probably attest to this. It's not that I don't have good intentions... it's just that I am easily distracted from cleaning.

For example, I was out last week for three days with sick kids. I had one good, focused day of task accomplishing. The other two were pretty well wasted. I had a plan for each of the three days but was seriously derailed on two out of three.

On Day One, I got sucked in a party-planning catalog that I came across while straightening up... and that was the end of my productivity. I realized that I hadn't planned squat for the kids' birthdays... and normally, by now, I'm pretty much through with the planning.

That sent me into panic mode.... As of today, I still haven't figured out where to have Ethan's party nor what kind of theme to use, and I can't find any cute decorations to coordinate with Laney's. This may not seem like a major catastrophe for most, but knowing that birthday party venues are few and far between here (shocking, I know), I'm a little freaked out.

This presents a problem.

Day Two was the productive day. I didn't discover any sort of major undertaking about which I had forgotten.

Day Three was equally unproductive because, in the midst of cleaning out Laney's closet, I found the kids' Easter baskets.

I love their Easter baskets. When Ethan was a wee little tot, I found a store in Knox-Vegas that made hand-painted Easter baskets -- totally cute. I designed one for him -- blue and green with frogs -- totally precious.

When Laney came, I had a friend of mine go back to the store and order one for Laney. Hers is just as precious -- pink and white with ladybugs and polka dots.

There was one problem, though: Laney's is bigger than Ethan's.

Anyone with multiple kids knows how that is going to work out in the long run... "Why is her basket bigger than mine?" "My basket is bigger so Mommy and Daddy love me more."

You get the idea.

When I called the store to order another one for Ethan, they told me they were *gasp* going out of business.

You can imagine where that leaves me for Baby #3.

So.... instead of finishing Laney's closet, I've been looking online for 2 baskets with wooden slats (not woven!) and handles... to no avail.

Anyone with information on how I can solve these crises? I'd appreciate it so I can move on to other more relevant tasks...like the dishes in my sink....

Hope Y'all Are Sitting Down...

First, I do realize that it has been almost two months since I posted anything, and I am so sorry. Y'all know I'm slack, but this time, I sort of have a reason.

I am pregnant.

Might I add that this news is very unexpected to all -- especially me and K. We are thrilled -- but we really, really, really were done with the whole birthing babies process after Laney. I mean, she's a handful... and the thought of having two of her makes me want to relocate in the witness protection program.

Plus, when I named our/my blog address jennings4, I wasn't expecting to change it.

Anyway -- back to not writing...

For the first couple of weeks of the new year, I was trying to get things back together with school, so I was a little preoccupied. Then, we found out about the baby -- which has already garnered a slew of nicknames....

Swimmer and Pitcher -- Ethan says there are two boy babies... which freaks me out, since he was dead-on about Laney. Now, the doctor only saw one.. but the ultrasound picture is a blob, so I don't know. Ethan, on the other hand, explains this whole "one baby" phenomenon this way: "Pitcher was hiding." Great.

Bunco -- or Baby Bunco -- courtesy of my bunco pals... I found out I was pregnant sort of by accident while at bunco last month. Most of the crew had left, and I was just standing around, yapping with my Bridge Run girls (minus Donelle). The conversation turned to kids, and I said (famous last words), "Oh, we're done. No more." Thought pops into my head -- and out of my mouth, "Well, I mean, I'm a week late, but..." Conversation stops. Lindsay, the hostess, offered to let me take a test that she had, so I did --- TOTALLY not thinking it would ever come out positive. I mean, I've been on the pill for almost two years... no recent antibiotics or anything.... so you can imagine my surprise when the second line shows up immediately on the test. The girls were fabulous, though... I could tell they were waiting to see if I was going to freak out... but really, at that point, what good would that do? I just had to let it sink in. They wrapped the test up in a beautiful package for me to take home to K... who promptly asked if I kept the receipt. :-)

Ambrosia Surprise -- My English teacher friends here at school nicknamed Laney "Tallulah" because I love the name but K. wouldn't hear of naming his daughter that. When I told them that I was expecting again, they promptly set about creating an original name for this baby, too... after they had a good laugh about me not heeding their advice to NOT give away all of my baby stuff because I'd turn up pregnant. (I just cleared out the last of the baby stuff in December.) If it's a boy, however, they decided to stay with A.S. as initials but figured that "Ambrosia" (which came from who knows where) would be too feminine... and that's how Anderson Swimmer came about... which incorporates the birth place with Ethan's name. You know we English teachers are all about giving names with meanings...

At any rate, the baby has been nicknamed, and we are preparing for his/her/their arrival. The whole thing has been a bit distracting, and so I figure I'm sort of justified in having not written. I mean, I'm making body parts here. Give me a little bit of a break... ;-)

I'm sure y'all are going to be sitting on the edge of your seats to hear all about how this third pregnancy is going. I will say that I am glad that I have already made the move to the MV because I do believe that a third child, combined with a third time of having lost weight only to get pregnant, plus a mini-van could possibly send me right into an identity crisis.

DISCLAIMER: My normally razor-sharp grammatical skills have gone all to pot in the past few weeks... I'm hoping it's a side effect of the pregnancy. Please excuse any glaring grammatical errors. I don't feel like fixing them.

I Am So Slack

Ok, it's Jan. 29... and I'm just posting the first blog of the year. I am such a slacker!!



Anyway, things are going along just swimmingly here in J-Town. We are trying to muddle through the yuckiest part of the year. I am so ready for spring to be here! I try really hard to be fashionable and reasonably well put-together, but it is a struggle at this point in the year.



I REALLY want to be wearing comfy pants, a tshirt, a hoodie -- even if K. swears that all of my coaching hoodies look like 1970 throwbacks, and tennis shoes.



Obviously, I am not wearing that, as I'm pretty sure I'd be escorted immediately from the building. I have, however, found that leggings and billowy dresses -- paired with flat shoes -- are pretty equivalent. Every now and then -- such as today -- I will throw in something a little different, just to spice things up. Today, for example, I am wearing leggings, a gray tiered dress, and black boots.



One of my co-workers has dubbed me "Jack Sparrow." I'm not terribly sure that's meant as a compliment.



Anyway, I'm not the only one having dressing difficulties in the house. Both of the kids are quite adament about their clothing, and it's really starting to annoy me.



Fashion Rule #1: I am the Mommy. I pick out the clothes and match them. No 4-year old or 20-month old has any sort of fashion sense.



Laney prefers to pick out her shoes. I let her -- as long as they match. She obviously has no concept of what matching means. Yesterday, she wanted to wear white sandals. Hello -- it's cold AND white shoes are out of season.



A huge brouhaha ensued, involving much screaming and gnashing of teeth.



She did not wear the white sandals.



Fashion Rule #2: I am the mommy. I am a bit particular about how you look. You should be, too.



I do concede on some things, like Ethan's hair. His hair is much cuter when spiked a little in front, but he H.A.T.E.S. for his hair to stand up. I have thus far refrained from holding his superheroes hostage until he lets me fix his hair the right way; he currently sports a slightly modern version of my dad's part-and-comb-over style.



I will not, however, allow him to leave the house to go anywhere in clothes that don't match or aren't complimentary. My parents, however, delight in dressing him in odd combinations that make me cringe.



It's a conspiracy, I believe.



Last week, my dad dressed Ethan -- for DINNER OUT, mind you -- in his black Halloween shirt (which reads "Little Devil" or something hokey like that in red sparkly letters), odd colored khakis, and navy blue Crocs.



I almost had a seizure when I saw him, precious little pumpkin, standing in the waiting area of a local restaurant.

My dad was smirking.

I was not amused.

Now I remember why my mom meticulously laid out our clothes, even when she wasn't going to be home to dress us.

Mental note: Must remember to pack clothes for kids when Toad is in charge.

Second mental note: Must remember to pack clothes for kids when Toad and/or Mary are in charge. Mary has been known to send Ethan to school in his pajamas.

Third mental note: Must remember to lay out clothes for Laney when K is in charge. He digs through closet to find clothes she has not worn in months. Usually too small/ out of season/ stained/ mismatched.

K says I'm a bit, a-hem, OCD about the kids' clothes and that no one cares, but I have to beg to differ. It's one thing for Laney to be running around in a diaper and tshirt at the house. It's quite another for her to be running around in public in pants that are too short or a dress with a popsicle stain on the front.

We have to have standards here.

My Own...

Personal Version of Hell is this:

12 hours in the car with the kids.

If, for some unforeseen reason, I end up in the Eternal HotSpot instead of at the Pearly Gates, I have to imagine that I will be sentenced to ride in the car with an 19-month old vicious beast and her overly-grown-up, tattle-tale brother for eternity.

We took off the day after Christmas to visit the fam in Baton Rouge. Now, I am not a good car person, so I dread almost any trip longer than a couple of hours. K, it seems, dreads them more than me... also because I'm not a good car person.

The first trip that K and I took to Baton Rouge was probably the most fun... for me, at least. After eight hours of playing The Question Game, K began to resemble Jack Nicholson's character in "The Shining"... so I stopped talking. That seemed to do the trick.

Needless to say, we don't play The Question Game any more....

Which means that I sleep... a lot. Once Ethan came into the picture, I thought things might change, but he is The Ultimate Child Traveler as long as he has his movies, sufficient snacks, and an occasional potty break.

I didn't think twice about traveling once Princess Laney arrived, but apparently, I should have. She is not a traveler... like her mother. She has a short attention span... like her mother. She likes to eat a lot and stop a lot... like her mother. Unlike her mother, though, she has not learned to suppress these urges in fear of launching her normally-almost-comatose father into a fit of road rage (which, apparently, 8 hours of The Question Game will do).

So, she whines. And cries. And makes a lot of noise.

While I am trying to read. Or sleep. Or tune out life as I know it in the car.

We finally made it, after 12 long hours... the last 2 1/2 of which consisted of:

1) Ethan announcing every five minutes, "I can't wait so long!" For what, we don't know, but dang it, he can't wait so long. We found that out.

2) Laney whining in that ear-splitting screech (that I now realize also sparks that involuntary muscle spasm up the back of my neck) until I would look at her. I also discovered this trip that looking back at her for any extended period of time makes me carsick.

3) Me trying to read while listening to my i-pod (a Valentine's gift from K that I didn't really know what to do with at first but now consider a God-sent blessing for trips because I can turn it up loud enough to drown out the sounds of two kids, two movies, the radio, and a grouchy husband who wants to know why I'm not listening to the 742 demands being made by the kids. Why am I not listening? Because I can't hear them or you. My i-pod is too loud. Sorry.)

4) K trying to deal with the kids (with occasional help from me because I feel guilty that I've left him in the world of the hearing... although I do now understand why my grandparents tried to rebel against getting hearing aids for so long... sometimes, it's wonderful to just not have to listen to the noise pollution) while becoming increasingly irate with me (also easy to ignore by closing my eyes and pretending to sleep... at least until Laney let lose with an ear-piercing shriek that triggers that involuntary spasm, making me jump and thus blowing my "sleeping" cover..)

By the time we got to BR, none of us were in any shape to visit anyone... Ethan was wired like he had been sipping liquid crack. Laney was in Primo Ultimate Diva Mode. K looked like he'd just come off of a 5-day drunk, and I was pretty much mute and unable to conduct any kind of intelligible conversation... always a great first impression with the in-laws...

In the days since, the kids have completely recovered, being resilient and young. K and I are on our way, although we were almost catapulted back to Square 1 after a trip to New Orleans today (the 50 minute trip took over 2 hours... anyone have a plastic spoon??? I'd rather gouge out my eyeballs than do that again...).

I do hold hope that the trip back will be pleasant and uneventful... but that doesn't seem to be the norm for us. (Out of the last three trips, we've managed to rack up two catastrophes, including a really expensive automotive breakdown and a nasty cracked windshield... both occurring in almost the same spot on two different trips... I would like to caution you against traveling anywhere close to Meridian, Mississippi, as I'm pretty sure that The Devil has taken over that town as his earthly headquarters...)

Who knew parenting could be this much fun?!?!?!

I think...

I have writer's block.
I cannot think of anything to write about. I mean, most of the time, the subject pops up, I start writing, and VOILA! a lovely blog appears on my screen.
Not so much right now.
I think it's because I'm distracted by the holidays. It is December 17 as I write this, and we still don't have all of our decorations up.... including those essential ones that go on the tree...
Yes, I know. We have failed mankind in the most serious of ways because we didn't have our tree up and decorated the day after Thanksgiving.
My bad.
On top of it all, I had to go find more decorations (because I can't find all of mine), when apparently everything lovely and attractive was snatched up by those out shopping the day after Thanksgiving...by all of those people who have been able to enjoy their fully decorated trees for several weeks now.
All of this -- my lost decorations, my sluggish start to the holidays -- requires me to go out into the "hustle and bustle" -- which is really more like a preschool free-for-all. Every ridiculous and annoying person on the planet is out, being excessively ridiculous and annoying, while I am just trying to get from Point A to Point B without cursing or killing someone.
Really? That 4th of July lawn decoration was on a 120% off Clearance rack but is ringing up .50 instead of .49, like it should? I will give you the bleepin' penny and wrap it for you to give to your great aunt Hilda if you will just get out of my way and stop holding up the line!
I think the hustle and bustle is zapping my creativity, so... I have -- after this year -- relinquished all Christmas duties to Keith.
I feel it only fair to publish this on a public domain so that you are all aware that you may never receive another picture of the kids, Christmas card, or normal Christmas gift... and our house may be decorated in a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree kind of fashion...
Now this sounds good in theory, but there are a few minor problems here...
1) I don't think that he thinks I'm serious.
2) I am a little bit of a control freak, and I may worry so much about how things are not getting done the way I would do them that it may ruin the whole rest-and-relaxation angle.
3) I don't want the kids' recollections of their early Christmases to be, "We never had decorations when we were little."
4) I wonder what he would send to the kids' Christmas parties for gifts... golf balls? Chips and salsa? Whatever spare change we have laying around the house? And would he wrap it up in brown paper lunch sacks? Would the kids be the laughing stock of preschool and kindergarten or would they think that Ethan and Laney's dad is the coolest?
5) Would he use big bulb lights, and if he did, could I still enjoy Christmas, or would I feel compelled to recite lines from "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" throughout the holidays? ("Say the blessing!")
Ok, well that stresses me out just thinking about it. We'll re-evaluate after this season... Maybe I'll let him start off with something small like Valentine's Day or picking out Easter outfits...

Things I Don't Understand (The Hilarity of It All)

So, I had to run a quick errand during my plan the other day. I relish any opportunity to get out of my concrete cubicle, so I skipped out to the MV, breathing in fresh air, sunshine, and the elixir of life-during-the-day-when-you-are-normally-couped-up-with-germy-kids. It was wonderful.



On the way back from my errand, I pull up behind what appears to be a normal car. I look away... something else caught my eye (shocking, I know, that my attention span is so minimal). I look back, and I think, "Something is odd about that car...." It seems really low to the ground.



About that time, I catch the eye of the odd-looking person in the driver's seat and he gives me the man-nod.



And then the car moves.



I don't mean moves forward. I mean moves up at an odd angle.



For a moment, I know I must've looked much like the RCA dog, head cocked at an unnatural angle.



I know I saw the car move, but it's not moving now..... and still, something isn't right.

Wait -- the front is much higher than the back. It wasn't like that before.... was it? Is my old age causing me to lose my memory?



At this point, I'm staring with my hand over my mouth, thankful I'm wearing sunglasses so it isn't exceptionally obvious that I'm staring while I sit in my non-mobile MV.



And the car moves again. This time, I see it, plain as day, and I realize that I am encountering hydrolics.



My first-ever, real-life experience with hydrolics that don't cause the car to bounce.



And then the show begins.



Just before the light changes, the car begins moving up and then down... rear bumper up... front bumper up... rear bumper down... front bumper down.

It is the craziest thing I have ever seen. The driver apparently sees my mouth gaping open and gives me the manly nod, then drives off as his car finally levels almost to the ground and then raises up to a semi-safe level so the belly of his car won't scrape up any roadkill...

Amazing.

I wonder if my MV can be tricked out like that....

I Take It Back.

My neighbors have issues, but I think their issues are much more complicated than not liking our harmless dogs. I take back the not-so-nice tone in which I wrote and ask that you say a prayer for them. Also, if anyone knows how to create an invisible force field around our house, I'm looking for estimates....

I am also...

A time waster.

I've had a morning of no classes.... and what have I done?

Email. All morning.

I haven't graded one paper. I haven't been the least bit productive.

Do I feel bad?

No.

What is wrong with me?

My parents raised me to be responsible and hard-working, and here I sit, loafing. So sad... so sad...

Does anyone else suffer from this disorder? I know I have a grading deadline next week, but still, here I sit. This is also a problem when it comes to housework... but that's an entirely different story.

Is there a treatment? A solution? Can I hire someone to grade for me?!?!

Any volunteers???

Sigh. I'm going.

Blog Overload

I almost had a serious crisis.

I went to log on to my blog, and the school had blocked the website.

Panic, wheezing included, ensued.

Obviously, they've rethought their stance on blocking my blog because here I am, in all of my wonderous glory, blogging away while my students take a writing test.

I should probably be grading other stuff, but what the heck! I like to live dangerously.

Anyway, once the panic lessened enough for me to breathe, it reminded me of the cell phone blowup of earlier in the year.

I'll make it short, since I can't remember if I blogged about this and am too lazy to look...

My first phone, a lovely Chocolate number of which I was very fond, was apparently highly sensitive to water/condensation... and apparently early morning telephone calls before the first volleyball tournament of the year out in the middle of a grass field next to the school (being the only place I could get reception) don't really agree with highly sensitive technological equipment.

MY solution: make a better phone or get your signal fixed.

VERIZON'S solution: laugh at the peon.

To make a long story short, the phone died, taking with it my contact list. I ordered a new phone, which I was told I qualified to recieve for free.... only I didn't recieve it (or any contact as to why not). When I finally was able to reach someone who could tell me what the problem was, it seemed my phone would not be free. I paid for the phone and then waited another week and a half to receive the phone, during which time I experienced an automotive crisis and had to depend on total strangers to ensure the well-being of my two kids and myself.

After all of that... I got the new phone -- a much lovelier orange thing -- for free.

And was named CEO of Verizon after theirs mysteriously lost his head to a very foul-tempered woman from some small town in the middle of nowhere.

Ok, I'm not CEO, but I did get the phone and some other bonuses for free.

The whole point is that I was completely lost without my cell, and I was about freak out about being out of touch with the outside world via the internet.

Alas, the problem is solved, and my heart beat has returned to normal. I've checked all of my normal blog sites, and they are all working. You, too, can relax and know that, for today at least, the blog is still up and running.

This gives you great peace, I know.

Showing my Rear...

Literally. Well, let me preface this with some background info:

Ethan, who has struggled a bit with the realization that he cannot show his superpowers at school (i.e. You can't hit somebody just because he/she is standing where you want to be), is on the sticker system.

If he has a good day, he gets a sticker. If he collects five stickers in a week, then we do something special, which usually involves Target, as he believes that Target was made specifically for his enjoyment.

Now, back to the funny stuff:

Friday afternoon, we celebrated our first five-sticker week with a trip to Target after dinner. Sounds simple enough, right? We pull into the parking space and start to unload the kids. As usual, we park next to a buggy thingy (because this makes the most sense to me, as I'm usually alone, with two kids and bags to unload... If I'm next to the cart thingy, I can put up my cart with minimal risk that some freak is going to try to steal one of my kids.)

I grab a buggy and roll it back to the car for Laney. Ethan is following close behind me. I'm thinking he's being a good little pumpkin.... He has other ideas.

As I approach K and Laney, a car turns down the aisle. Now my back is to the car, but it's headlights were huge and completely engulfed our little family in light... right about the time Ethan pulls the back of my dress up, fully extending his arms over his head and giggles, "Mommy, I see your hiney!"

Yes, son, so did every customer in the Target parking lot.

I was mortified, of course, because 1) I don't normally show my rearend like that and 2) I was wearing non-show-off quality undies. Not ugly, but definitely more comfy that cute.

At this point, K. was laughing so hard he was about to cry, Ethan thought he'd done something hysterical because his daddy was so tickled, and Laney was shrieking and cackling with no clue as to what was so funny.

I, on the other hand, was contemplating digging to China while wondering if such escapades were included in the Mommy Handbook chapters that I skipped...

My question is, "Why does this always happen to the Mommy?" I mean, I carry you in my belly, get stretch marks and all sorts of grossness, get up with you in the middle of the night and early on Saturday mornings. I take you to the park and to playdates. I buy your clothes and food and toys.

Why can't, for once, you pull your dad's pants down or something instead of lifting my dress or pulling the neck of my sweater down to expose my hoo-hoos to the elderly gentleman in the Brooks Brothers store? Vomit on your dad at work or ask him, while in the public restroom, if he has to go stinky or why the person next to him in the stall is making those silly noises.

Believe me, I'm tallying up the score. You just wait until you're about 15 and realize that we aren't as cool as you once thought.

It's gonna be on like Donkey Kong....

Oh, and...

Nix what I said about our neighbors liking animals. They don't like our dogs, and we are now officially enemies.

How can you not like Boudreaux, king of smelly lapdog boxers? Zelda -- I can understand her. We love her, but she has a princess complex (common in our family, apparently), and thus is very picky about the company she keeps.

Boo for mean neighbors who seem nice but then "anonymously" call animal control on well-loved, immunized, snuggly beasts.

Question

Does anyone else still make a Christmas list?

I've been working on lists for my family for about a month now, and I'm shocked to find that few people (as in ADULTS) actually make lists still.

I'm disturbed by this, as I think we should make lists for every holiday as well as general gift guides so as to avoid awkward/heinous/repeat gifts.

I am a list freak, though, so I don't know if everyone feels the same.

Now, I know it's really the spirit of giving that counts, and I'm not trying to sound greedy here. It's not the quantity of money spent but rather the quality of the gift. I, for example, love pens --specifically the felt tip Flair pens. They aren't terribly expensive, but a 4-pack of Flairs just lights up my life. I once had a co-worker give me a loaf of bread, a jar of creamy peanut butter, and a jar of grape jelly as a going away gift. I loved it and was so excited -- because 1) I love smooth pb & grape jelly sandwiches and 2) he paid attention to detail -- smooth, not crunchy; grape not strawberry.

That's what I'm talking about!

Now, K used to be a bad gift giver, but he has improved tremendously. I recently celebrated my *gasp* 30th birthday, and it was quite traumatic for me. (I loved being a 20-something, even when I was driving a mini-van.)

Before our first Christmas together, I pointed out several page-a-day calendars that I liked. (I'm also a calendar freak.)

I expected one.

He gave me seven.

Seven.

Do you have any idea how long it takes to maintain 7 page-a-day calendars? I put them in my classroom (because I do like calendars), but I had to assign the duty to a student. It was too time-consuming.

Now, there's nothing wrong with excess, but I was shocked. I didn't have enough open surface area in my room. I had to double them up.

And then there was the year that I paid the mortgage twice right before Christmas, and we were flat broke until two days before Christmas. I'd had my Christmas shopping done for a month, but K. had bought nothing.

Over the years, though I didn't think he could top last year. LAST year, I had a volleyball game on my birthday, but when I got home, he had gone all out: pizza from my favorite pizzeria, complete with chocolate chip pizza (which is my favorite food in the entire world) for dessert (4 of them -- one for dessert and three to snack on as I saw fit!). The gifts were thoughtful -- two maroon and black bags for me to use for coaching (one small, one large) and an assortment of other gifts... but the kicker was this: he had my Clemson diploma framed with a beautiful picture of Tillman Hall, the main education building and former residence of Toad where I have so many fond childhood memories of growing up as a Tiger.

It still brings tears to my eyes.

It wouldn't have mattered if he'd laminated the two together -- it was the idea, the thought, the effort behind it that made it so special.

This year, though, he came through again. My birthday was incredible. We celebrated for two days. A friend of mine (Cory, you rock!) planned the party, and Keith helped assemble the details....

And thus, the ultimate Wonder Woman (my childhood hero) 30th birthday bash was given.

He and Cory assembled my Clemson girls for a night of good eats and good times, and it was magical. I got to wear the crown. I got my own Wonder Woman cake. There were Wonder Woman decorations everywhere.... and my girls were there. Life doesn't get much better, as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, several people have commented (upon seeing me slave over my Christmas list) that I am in the minority, but I say there should be a gift list movement!

Register for general holiday and spontaneous gift giving ideas! (How many times have you gone to buy a gift and had no idea what to get? Wouldn't this solve this issue?!?)

Register for sizes and quantities and colors! (That way, if you want 74 place settings of china, you can get them over the next 50 years of your life! If you wear a size 8, you won't get size 24 pajamas!)

Gifts, of course, wouldn't be limited to just the list; the lists should be used as a guide.

Gift givers of the world, UNITE! Bad gift givers can be reformed with a little patience and guided shopping opportunities! No one should have to suffer opening another awkward/heinous/repeat gift again!

These Boots....

I found a precious pair of hot pink cowgirl boots on sale, and being the shoe fiend that I am, I snatched them up for my hot-pink-kind-of-girl, Laney.

I bought a size 6, thinking she was in a size 4 1/2 and would be able to wear them through the winter.

I had her foot measured a few weeks later -- around the middle of August -- and found out that she was not, as I had guesstimated, in a 4 1/2 but instead in a 5 1/2.

Ooops.

Last weekend, I decided to try the boots on her to see if she could wear them or if I'd need to be in search of a new pair of boots.

Big mistake.

As soon as I pulled them out of the box, she let loose this ear-piercing shriek of delight and grabbed them right out of my grasp. She even sat down on the floor for me to put them on her -- a sight rarely seen, as dressing her is normally akin to wrestling a silver-back gorilla.

They looked, of course, absolutely darling on her little chubby feet, and obviously match her rather colorful personality. Satisfied, I started to take them off.

Yet another big mistake.

Laney, who also has a penchant for wearing tiaras (and making her brother wear them), was not yet ready to relinquish the boots. She threw herself face down on the floor, turned the same shade of hot pink as her boots, and cried like I had just ripped her beloved Myrtle bear to shreds.

I tried to console her but nothing would work.

Now, Laney is the ultimate queen of tantrums, so we butt heads... a lot. Not only does she cry, but (I have to say, this --right now -- is my favorite part) she will eventually stand up, throw something (like her pacifier), glare at you (while still screaming like a banshee), and stomp her foot.

This performance followed the lay-on-the-floor-and-scream performance.

Finally, I picked her up, carried her downstairs under my arm like a bag of dog food, and handed her to her dad while I put the blasted boots back on her feet.... and off we went to the grocery store, with me wearing an exasperated expression and flip-flops and her wearing a sundress, hot pink cowgirl boots, and pigtails.

She got lots of attention, of course, which pleased her to no end... and I plotted revenge. I'm only buying her ugly shoes from now on.

She may have won the battle, but The Princess will not win the war. I am the Queen, and I will reign. My crown is much bigger...

Previews of What's To Come...

I'm really writing this to myself as a reminder, but I thought some of you (who know Laney... or me) might find this amusing and come back tomorrow (or next month... whenever I get around to it...) to read more....

Laney is obsessed with her pink cowgirl boots.

And when I say "obsessed," I mean OBSESSED.

She's 15 months old.

It's going to be a rough 18 years....

Testing.. Testing... 1-2-3

My elementary school chorus teacher used to test the microphones this way before performances.... I never understood why. Any insight on that???

On another note.... y'all, school is kicking my butt! I'm teaching a class during my plan for another teacher who is out on maternity leave. Now, I am the queen of wasting time during my plan... I can always find something else to do besides grade papers and whatnot... but I've realized how much I actually accomplish now that I don't have a plan at all.

Like posting to my blog. :)

Lots has happened around the house...
1- We have neighbors. People have finally moved in to the house next door. Our dogs, however, are protesting the encroachment on their territory by baring their teeth and terrorizing the new neighbors' 10 year old son. Thank heavens they like animals....

2- Ethan has started Big Boy School. I cried.

3- Laney is finally showing signs of being a person instead of a demanding, crying, whining spawn of Satan disguised (in the presence of company, of course) as a precious, smiling baby.

4- School has started. Volleyball has started. I don't want to jinx it, but I think we might win a few this year.

5- C-L-E-M in cadence count! Yes, that's right, boys and girls! It's football time in SC -- and (although they are performing well) I don't mean for The Gamecocks! We'll have more to say about the season and how we're going to have to sell our kids on the black market to pay for tickets next season.

There's much more, but I'm squeezing this in while my kids are working on an essay, and the natives are starting to get restless....

Please Tell Me I'm Not Alone...

I don't know if it's because school is getting ready to start again (my kids come tomorrow) or just because I'm about to *sob* exit my 20s.... but something is a little off. For whatever reason, I have piled one embarrassing moment on top of another over the course of the last week, and I need it to stop.

I like to imagine myself as a suave, cool, collected, urban do-it-all kind of girl... I'm a coach, a mom, a wife, a teacher... I have interests and am involved in various things.

Turns out, I'm just a bumbling, uncoordinated blob.

Ex. 1: K. happened to be in town last week around lunchtime and called to see if I wanted to meet him. Now, it just so happened that this was the day of our district wide meeting, for which we are supposed to look presentable, and I was wearing heels.

I love my heels and girly clothes, but I took a break from them this summer in favor of flip-flops and what K. calls my "mu-mus" -- or billowy, loose-fitting sundresses. In my effort to reacquaint myself with my grown-up clothes, I opted for one of my favorite pairs of shoes to make the transition less painful.

These shoes rock. Stiletto heels, leopard-print sandals. Not scary hooker sandals, mind you -- just cute summer sandals. Very versatile. Very much my taste. Love them.

Anyway, as we exited the building, I noticed that my belt -- a beaded brown tie-on kind of thingy -- is sliding down. For whatever reason, I cannot get the bleepity-bleep belt tight enough to stay up. (I think it's because it is made from glass beads.... it's definitely not because I'm some sort of waif who is too small for clothes.)

I was trying to keep up with Keith while at the same time inconspicuously removing myself from the belt. When I tried to step out of the belt as it slid down my hips, my stiletto heel caught in the hem of my knit gauchos.

Knit is stretchy, you know, but apparently not so stretchy that it would accommodate the distance between the hem and the ground. (Gauchos, for those that have no idea what I'm talking about, usually fall just below knee length.)

Instead, when gravity kicks in and forces me to put my foot down -- while the heel is still entangled -- the gauchos only stretched so far before sliding down my hips as well.

Yes, that's right. I'm standing in the middle of the sidewalk at a busy local eatery with my belt on the ground and my pants halfway to my ankles.

I mooned the entire east side of the building.

Well, technically, it wasn't a moon because I was wearing underwear (and nice ones, at that, thank heavens)... but really... it was as close as I ever want to be to showing my A.... well, at least, involuntarily. :)